


Homo Ceratiidae

by phipiohsum475



Series: Species!Lock [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU-anglerfish, Crack, First Meeting, M/M, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So the fandom has wolves and cats and dogs and egg fics, and I just thought there are so many other types of species from the animal world...</p><p>So, anglerfish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homo Ceratiidae

**Author's Note:**

> Paniscus is taking longer than I'd anticipated, and this idea wouldn't leave me alone. I'm hoping getting it out will free my mind to finish Paniscus.
> 
> As always, not betaed nor britpicked. Feel free to (kindly!) point out my errors!

John limped down the aisle, filling the trolley to the brim. His stomach growled despite the full English breakfast he’d wolfed down just two hours prior. As the cashier rang up his purchases, as the total rose ever higher, John was again grateful for the unbonded provider food allowance that made up part of his pension. He’d die of starvation in a week if he had to survive on what Bill got each month.

He ignored the looks as he tried to hail a cab. He knew the numbers, only one in 30,000 providers made it to his age without bonding. He hated the looks of cruel pity it garnered, the looks that said louder than words, _Oh poor man, he hasn’t found a mate yet. How sad. He’d probably be better off dead_. Cruel, indeed.

Sometimes, alone at night, in the hopeless bedsit, he wondered if he agreed with them. He’d been proud of his life, mate or no, but the injury stole his career, his careers, from him. Now what? What was left? Well-meaning friends and family encouraged him to find his mate, as if he hadn’t been scenting. He scented constantly already. How could he not? The biologic urge was too deep and his nose was on constant alert for any birther whose smell elicited even the hint of a bond. They couldn’t understand; the providers he knew scented out multiple options for bonds and choose accordingly and the birthers lacked the olfactory prowess to understand the mating scent. But they all just thought he was being picky, no matter how hard he tried to describe the genotype of professed ‘super smellers.’ Everything smelled too much. Too much peppermint, rose, rain, grease, straw, cut grass, low pressure systems, exhaust, sap; it was all so overwhelming that no scent held his attention for long without utterly engulfing him.

He sighed as he loaded his bags into the boot of the cab. The cabbie helped, a kind male birther with two bonded providers, one absorbed into his left shoulder and the other into his right forearm. He thanked the three of them and slid into the back seat. One of the providers, the male situated on the birther’s shoulder, made congenial small talk with a content manner, despite the obvious disinterested vibes John desperately tried to exude.

He pondered instead on the evolutionary design of his species, prompted by the two squirrels he’d spotted out the window, copulating in a tree. How odd it was for them to mate, reproduce and separate. He supposed benefits existed; the autonomy of the provider post mating might be nice, to be able to continue his life just as it was now, but with the added knowledge of a partner. That small benefit withered under the benefits of his own species. How did squirrels, or dogs, or penguins ensure their mate loved them? Cared appropriately for their offspring? Would be able to reproduce when fertile? It all seemed rather haphazard for the others. _Homo Ceratiidae_ were just so much more certain in their mating and reproductive habits. He’d gladly merge with a mate, if only he could scent one out.

-o-

John hobbled through the park, his need to escape the bedsit finally overcoming his aversion to the crushing assault on his nasal passages. He almost missed Mike entirely, likely because John hadn’t met Mike’s mate. Mike had bonded to a motherly, female birther and what was left of him stuck out from her neck. They chatted, John offering snippets of conversation to his mate and the other three providers strewn about on her body, but mostly focused on his old friend. He complained about hunger, about traffic, about the bedsit he could barely afford, and the difficulty of finding a mate whose smell he could stand.

Mike flashed his trademark devious smirk and offered to help him with the bedsit.

-o-

“Bit different from my day,” John commented. The room was sterile and the odorous deluge lessened a great deal. He detected a soft musk, overlaid with cardamom and vanilla, a delicious, intoxicating scent that he knew would be overpowering in person; someone must have left a shirt or jacket behind. He looked up at Mike and waited for him to explain what they were doing here. Mike shifted his eyes to the end of the room. John followed his gaze and visibly startled at seeing a tall man with wild, dark curls prompting Mike for his phone. He hadn’t realized anyone was in the room; the competing odors in the room were too weak to suggest a third person so he hadn’t bothered looking. He stepped forward to offer his own mobile, and realized with a start that the delicious, soft, subtle scent was coming from the man, a unbonded birther, in front of him. John whipped his head to look at Mike, who sported a knowing smile.

The man caught the exchange, but misinterpreted with a roll of his eyes, “Yes, I have no scent. Nonperoleres are rare-“

“No scent?” John cut the man off in disbelief. “You smell _amazing. Brilliant_.”

The man narrowed his eyes and changed his train of thought, “-but not as rare as you. A valdolere, am I right?”

“That’s the clinical term, yeah.”

“You're a doctor.” The man switched topics suddenly. “In fact, you're an army doctor.”

“Yes.”

“I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. Could be dangerous.”

“Excuse me?” John’s head swam trying to follow the conversation, hoping he wouldn’t turn the man off the idea of mating entirely. Or perhaps the man was trying to turn _him_ off.

“I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Potential mates should know the worst about each other.”

John floundered, embarrassed. “Who said anything about mates?”

“You did, it’s written all over you. An army doctor, invalided back, you’re not currently working; you’re bored. I mentioned danger, you perked up noticeably, widened your eyes, you’re hungry for a little excitement. I’m the first person you’ve met who’s scent hasn’t turned you off completely and you’re in your late thirties.

“As for me, I always enjoy a good puzzle, and who better than a medical rarity? I’ve been reliably informed I have no scent, yet here you are. Why shouldn’t we?”

“We've only just met and we're going to mate?” John asked incredulously.

“Problem?”

“We don't know a thing about each other. I don't even know your name.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he winked, and strode off, confident John would follow.

And follow, John did.

**Author's Note:**

> How I imagine male parasitism looks on humans (though Sherlock would be a much more attractive package): http://dw4n.com/Enemies/Abzorbaloff.php
> 
> Sources on Anglerfish: http://rjd.miami.edu/conservation/reproduction-in-the-deep-sea, and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anglerfish.
> 
> And a fantastic comic about the sad lives of male anglerfish: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/angler
> 
> Oh there are so, so many anglerfish things. Here is an anglerfish song by Hank Green.


End file.
